


Obedience: To the letter.

by tsundanire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Daddy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-13 15:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21496381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsundanire/pseuds/tsundanire
Summary: Sometimes following the rules can get you into trouble.
Relationships: Bartemius Crouch Sr./Percy Weasley
Comments: 39
Kudos: 81





	Obedience: To the letter.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge shout out to all those who made this possible. Y'all know who you are. The list is too extensive for me to try and list. Extra special thanks to @bblgumbby and @cheekytorah for the quick beta work! Y'all are the best. For the rest of you that walked in here unknowingly, I have no regrets. Enjoy!

The first time Percy realized his compromised position, was the day he’d tidied up the office of his superior: Barty Crouch Sr. 

He’d been in the position for exactly three weeks. In that time he had already memorized his mentor’s schedule, his preferences in drinks, how he liked things to be on his desk, basically everything that would make Percy not only an outstanding resource, but also equally indispensable. 

Assistants were typically fired for one reason: they were incompetent. After scoring high marks in his N.E.W.T.s, being Head Boy, and a multitude of other awards that marked him as exceptional, Percy had no intention of being brushed aside as anything less than what he was. Perfection could and should be achieved in all things. 

On this particular morning, Percy had arrived four hours earlier than his employer, in hopes of leaving a lasting impression. Thus far, Mr Crouch Sr had been completely ambivalent about his attempts at standing out, but today would break him away from that conventional mould. 

“Incoming!” Whispered a voice by the door. The secretary had a special spot in her heart for Percy, and always did her best to ensure he was able to do his best. Percy flashed her a smile and moved to his position by the door, the day’s folder in hand. 

“Morning, Mrs Celbrun.” A stout voice filtered through the door, meaning Mr Barty Crouch Sr had arrived at last. 

“Good morning Sir. I trust you had a pleasant evening?” 

“As pleasant an evening as one can have.” 

“Very good, Sir. Here are your messages.”

“Thank you, Mrs Celbrun.” 

The sound of footsteps carried through the door until it was pushed open. Percy bowed his head out of respect, though it wasn’t really expected of him at all and often made him appear far more meek than he actually was. 

“Good morning, Sir,” Percy greeted Mr Crouch with enthusiasm. “I have the morning report here for you. Why don’t I take your hat and coat?” Percy offering a free arm, and the folder he was holding.

Crouch Sr flicked a glance at him through narrowed eyes, it wasn’t an angry look, but it certainly had some judgement within its depths. He removed his hat, scarf, and cloak, then passed them all to Percy before taking the folder and flipping it open. As he walked to his desk, Percy made sure to put all the outer gear on the coat and hat outside the office door. He gave Mrs Celbrun a quick wink, then back inside the office he went, shutting the door behind him. 

Mr Crouch Sr was sitting with quill in hand, marking up the documents in the folder and muttering quietly to himself. Their department was busier than usual, what with the plans unfolding at Hogwarts this year, and all of them had been putting extra hours in—just to keep on top of the work in store. 

“Sir, I just wanted to tell you that I came in extra early this morning to reorganize the folders for the Tournament in terms of urgency. With most urgent being closest to the front.” Percy, stood by the desk, hands folded in front of him carefully. 

There was a pause in Crouch’s muttering, and Percy was sure he was about to be praised for his efforts. Every one of his teachers had always appreciated the extra lengths to which he’d gone for them, even those at the ministry who he’d interned with had valued his over-achieving behaviour. 

The quill hovered over parchment for a fraction of a second before Mr Crouch continued on with his scribbling. 

“And who asked you to do that?” The words were like a slap in the face. 

“I-... No one Sir.” Percy felt his face flush with shame, and a hint of frustration.

“I do not like suck-ups, Weatherby. In the future, do not do something so excessive without my express command.” Mr Crouch Sr paused again, lifting his stern gaze on Percy, eyes sharper than he would have given him credit for. “Is that clear?”

“Y-yes, Sir.” Percy felt something flop in his belly, like an angry bee prodding at his insides. 

And for two weeks, that was all that was said about the matter. Percy went back to simply following orders as was expected and directed to him, and Mr Crouch continued his usual routine to the letter: coming in at the same time every day, drinking the same tea, an hour for correspondence, two hours of meetings, a half hour for lunch, and so on. 

The second time it happened, Percy had made tea for Mr Crouch before his morning arrival. It was done more out of a sense of saving time than actual sucking up, but the result was still the same. 

“What is this?” Mr Crouch looked at the cup on his desk as he passed his outer clothes to Percy. Three words. That’s all they were. Three simple words, and yet Percy began to shake. 

“It’s y-your morning t-tea, Sir.” Percy’s voice trembled. 

This time Mr Crouch said nothing. He stared at the offending cup, then directly at Percy until it was removed from his sight. There was a tremor in his hands that rattled the cup so loudly, there was no way Crouch didn’t hear it. 

Later that day, when everyone had returned home, and Percy was the only one left in the office, he returned to Crouch’s office. The man had left his scarf behind, which was odd for a man of ritual, but Percy grabbed it from Mr Crouch’s desk, intent of putting it back on the coat rack for the ‘morrow. He took one last look at the desk, to ensure everything else was as Crouch had left it. 

Not to sound like a creep, but there was a certain smell that he’s come to recognize as distinctly Mr Crouch’s office. It was old books, leather chairs, desk polish, and something musky like his cologne. As Percy stood over Mr Crouch’s desk, he thought of the two times he’d been admonished by his employer thus far. The words so casually thrown at him, paired with that tone… Percy found himself panting mildly, strangely eager to have that attention on him again. 

He’d grown hard in his trousers, without even realizing it. How odd, considering he didn’t exactly consider Mr Crouch Sr. attractive in the traditional sense of the word, but perhaps in the end it was more about the dark knowledge he now fantasized over?

A quick flick of his wand, and a whispered spell ensured the door was locked before he dropped the wand to the desk and brought the scarf to his face. He took a large inhale of the—somewhat minty, mostly smoky—scent that was Barty Crouch Sr. 

He exhaled on a shaky breath, hand trembling as it went to the front of his trousers, rubbing slowly, teasingly. Without the skin-on-skin contact, if he closed his eyes, Percy could imagine it was Crouch touching him, teasing him, all while whispering admonishments in his ear. 

‘_I didn’t say you could defile my desk like this, Weatherby._’ 

‘_Have I given you permission to moan like that?_’

Percy resisted temptation to reach into his trousers and grasp himself fully, but instead bucked his hips needily against his palm, alternating between the full grasp of his palm and feather-light touches of his finger tips. Before long though, he was whimpering into the scarf, and trying to hold back from the edge. 

‘_Who gave you permission to come?_’ 

That was all it took for Percy’s eyes to snap shut tight, and his knees to buckle, dampness spreading around the inside of his trousers. 

+

The next day, Percy was waiting in his usual place by the door, but with the red of shame painted across his cheeks. It was especially odd, considering there was no way Mr Crouch could possibly know what had transpired the previous night, and how sullied his desk now was. Yet as hat and coat—sans scarf—were passed to him in exchange for the morning report folder, Percy felt a frisson of anxiety tingle in his spine with the way he was regarded. 

Mr Crouch Sr said nothing however, and attended his work at his desk, per usual. In fact, aside from the single glance to start, they hardly interacted that day beyond exchanges of paper, reports, books, and files. 

Of course, Percy was well aware that they were drowning in paperwork between the three schools involving themselves in this TriWizard tournament, but the lack of almost any interaction between them—regardless of good or bad—was wearing him thin. 

Oddly enough, the scarf remained behind a second day. 

Then a third.

And by the end of the week, Percy had wanked himself raw over Mr Crouch’s desk, face burrowed into the scarf, until the scent had all but faded to nothing. It was frustrating, because that was the only thing in the office that had strongly retained Crouch in essence. Between that being almost gone, and the fact that it had been exactly eight days, thirteen hours, and thirty-two minutes since Crouch had last put him in his place: Percy was irritable come Tuesday morning.

He’d prepared everything that required preparing that morning, and out of pure spite, had done a bit extra. Nothing large, but small things that Mr Crouch was bound to notice. The chair had been freshly polished, some paperwork that required immediate attention spread across the centre of his desk (rather than in the usual in-box), and a fresh cup of tea already at his desk. It wasn’t anything that would have raised any issues with anyone else, and even in the eyes of Barty Crouch Sr. could have been minor infractions—had it not been for the fact that Percy absolutely knew better. 

“Morning Mrs Celbrun.” Mr Crouch’s voice came from beyond the door. 

Percy quickly took up his usual position, folder in hand, body positively thrumming with unspent energy. The conversation outside seemed to take longer than normal, which was unlikely, but Percy wanted the damned door to open. 

“Very good, Mrs Celbrun.” Crouch’s voice was already at the door, pushing it open and taking a quick look through the messages he’d received. 

“Good morning, Sir. I have the morning report here for you.” Percy offered the folder, his voice calm but clipped. Not it’s usual overly chipper tone due to nerves. The cloak and hat were offered to him with minimal reply, and the folder taken from him at the same time. 

“Good, good, Weasley.” 

Percy had quickly learned that Mr Crouch Sr. knew his name very well, but only used it on the occasions when he was in a good mood, or Percy had warranted the use of his correct name. _Weatherby_ was used on purpose, to marginalize and demean him when he’d done something wrong. To anyone else, it would have been upsetting, frustrating, and downright appalling. And most anyone else would have quit when they realized. Percy couldn’t explain it, but he had the same reaction to ‘Weatherby’ as most people had to ‘baby’ or ‘kitten’ or some million other outlandish pet names. 

“I’ll need you to write out a reply to-...” Mr Crouch’s voice cut off, and without looking away from putting the outer robes on their rack, Percy knew he’d seen it. His body was on fire, roaring with a passion that could hardly be explained. He was treading a very thin line, playing a game he wasn’t sure Crouch was playing with him. 

“Weatherby.” The command was clear, the tone clipped and annoyed. 

“Yes, Sir?” Percy moved quickly to the desk, taking up his usual spot on the right side. 

“What have I told you about doing things you’ve not been tasked with?” Crouch was facing away from him, but there was a hint of something in his voice, something Percy had never heard before. It wasn’t anger, because that was something he was _very_ familiar with, but he still couldn’t place it. 

“You’ve asked me not to,” he responded, proud that his voice remained neutral for once. 

“And, yet I see a cup of tea on my desk, and some papers I hadn’t asked for, strewn about for anyone to see.” There it was again. That tremor. Percy’s breath came out in a whoosh of excitement and intimidation. “Is there anything else out of place that I should know about?” 

Mr Crouch turned to face him, his expression stern and unrepentant, and yet there was heat in his gaze, as if the very idea that Percy had purposefully defied him was...dare he say, arousing? 

“I p-polished your chair too, Sir.” The quiver in his voice returned, betraying his strong, unaffected stance. 

“Did you, indeed?” He touched a finger to the shiny black chair and inhaled slowly. “Weatherby, do you know what I do to young men, like yourself, who are unable to follow orders?”

This was it. As he looked directly into Mr Crouch’s eyes, Percy knew this was the inevitable moment everything had been heading towards. The words were a challenge, laid out for him to take, or pass on. The choice was his. 

“You… punish them, Sir?” He hesitated, hopeful, but uncertain.

He didn’t have to wait long before Mr Crouch removed his belt. 

“Indeed. I do.” Mr Crouch’s voice had lowered, as he took a step into Percy’s space. “Bend over the desk.” He ordered. As Percy complied, he looked up to see Mr Crouch walking away. Panic filled him. He wondered if he’d been wrong. Was it all a joke? Or had he been setting him up for public humiliation? 

“Mrs Celbrun, you may take your break now. For all your hard work, I’m giving you an hour for lunch. Enjoy.” 

The door was closed immediately, shutting out the sounds of a flustered but excited receptionist. After taking a moment to look at the way Percy’s body arched over the desk, Mr Crouch stopped at the cloak rack and pulled out his scarf. Percy’s cheeks bloomed red. 

“Here. Take this. I’d rather like your mouth full, if you please. Don’t need anyone sending noise complaint memos about.” 

+

_Three weeks later… _

Mr Bartemius Crouch Sr sat at his desk, quill flying over the parchment laid out on his desk. Some small matter of Professor Dumbledore’s spell work surrounding the cup, and some other enchantments the man had planned to prevent the younger students from competing. 

His hand flew about, writing words in a perfectly acceptable script, not a single hint of being affected by the mouth wrapped around his lower parts below. Percival Ignatius Weasley had been the single most incredible find these long years. The young man was unparalleled at attending his every need at any moment, and had often attempted to go above and beyond. When it was clear that such behaviour was unacceptable in this office, Percy had occasionally continued to do so out of spite. It was thrilling, having someone who challenged him so thoroughly, but also enjoyed the repercussions of his actions.

The fact that he had a mouth that could suck like the end-times were coming was a bonus. A bonus he enjoyed at every occasion he could. Right now, for instance. Pausing for a moment from writing his letter, Barty leaned his back against his chair and looked down into stunning blue eyes. These were the moments only they could hold in their hands. With a soft grunt, Barty reached down to pat Percy’s cheek, and then set himself back to the task of writing.


End file.
